


show me the world as i'd love to see it

by foreverautumn



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Accidental Proposal, Feelings, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, tlc (tender loving cannibals)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:21:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29418555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverautumn/pseuds/foreverautumn
Summary: “You said yes.” Will hears the words in his voice, feels the rumble of them in his throat, but it still doesn’t feel like they'd come from him.“It would appear so,” Hannibal replies, calm as ever.(Before you, and after you, he’d said once. The bookends of his life.)
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 201





	show me the world as i'd love to see it

**Author's Note:**

> (Freddie Lounds’ ears perk up) did someone say murder husbands?

Will groans. The rumble of it in his throat is the first thing he’s truly cognizant of in the midst of his slowly regained consciousness.

When he manages to focus on what he’s currently feeling, he lets out another groan. Long, and loud.

He’s pretty sure his body may have gone through a blender, if that sort of thing were possible.

It takes an agonizingly long time for him to be able to pry his eyelids open, and when he does, he’s brought back to the idea of a blender. Except it’s not his body that had been in it, apparently, though the room may have been. Empty bottles and glasses strewn about, even a few stains on the carpet, and—

“Hannibal?”

Will squints at the man slumped across from him. Not dead, as evidenced by the gentle movements of his chest, but clearly nowhere near awake. Will considers shaking his shoulder, but that would require a lot more effort than he’s willing to expend at the moment. Instead, he cranes his neck slightly to take in the rest of the room. It’s clear that they’d both had more to drink than they should’ve, but Will’s not sure what the cause had been. 

Drowning their sorrows? That sounds more like something Will would engage in on his own. Hannibal certainly wouldn’t have deigned to join him. Will hasn’t felt the urge in awhile.

Some kind of celebration? He can’t imagine what the occasion might be. Or perhaps it had been a last hurrah, after realizing the FBI had finally caught up with them?

The uncertainty is enough to get Will moving. Jerkily, and with no small amount of grace, but he manages to get to his feet and stumble forward without crashing back down. Hannibal remains passed out, utterly useless. Will can’t wait to lord it over him later, assuming there is a later for them, and there aren’t twenty cops just outside the door ready to burst in at any moment.

It takes a great amount of concentration for Will to carefully peek through the blinds and confirm the house doesn’t appear to be surrounded. He creeps around the rest of the rooms as cautiously as he can, heart rate lowering exponentially when he sees nothing out of the ordinary.

With a sigh, Will presses his head to the wall by the front door. He swings it open, half certain he’s about to be gunned down.

Nothing. Just sunlight streaming down, warming his skin.

Will sighs again, slumping down heavily on the porch. He rests his face in his hands, fingertips pressed firmly to his pounding skull. He needs water, and painkillers. Hannibal will too, probably, when he wakes up. Unless, of course, he’d drugged Will for some reason and is only pretending to be suffering the same fate. He wouldn’t really put it past him.

Not that Hannibal has done anything like that, for a long time now. Still, there are moments where the bitter feelings rise in Will’s chest, rolling over him like a wave. It hasn’t escaped his notice that the more time that passes, the bitterness doesn’t seem to linger. What that says for his self-preservation skills, he can’t even begin to say.

Will spreads his arms out, leaning back slightly on his palms. Reminds himself again that no one is coming for them. Not yet. They’d just gone a little too heavy on the alcohol; nothing majorly life-changing has been left behind in the wake of their overindulgence.

Hannibal is still out of it when Will goes to check on him. It’s probably kinder to leave him that way, for now. Maybe not so kind to leave the room in its current disarray, but he chooses to believe Hannibal is responsible for at least half of it.

Will chugs down two glasses of water and a few painkillers. Without thinking, he fills another glass and leaves it sitting on the counter, then drags himself to the bathroom. After relieving himself, Will stares at his reflection in the mirror. Unsurprisingly his skin is pale, though he’s certainly seen himself look a lot worse. He splashes water on his face, brushes his teeth, and has decided on a shower when he starts absentmindedly patting at his pockets.

He’s not really expecting to find anything; it’s habit, more than anything else. He’s suitably confused when he unearths a small box from his pants pocket and a crumpled paper from his shirt.

Will sits down on the toilet lid and opens the box. He’s glad he’s sitting down already, but with the way his pulse is pounding in his ears he thinks he might still somehow be falling downwards.

Two simple bands lie nestled close together in the small box. _Wedding rings_ , his brain automatically supplies.

Will had stopped wearing his ring the first time he’d really sat and looked at it. Considered what it meant. So much time had been spent on their recovery, he really hadn’t given its continued presence on his finger any thought. Removing it had left him with a burn in the back of his throat, but he’d known he had made a choice there’d be no coming back from.

Will closes the box and shoves it back into his pocket, like the rings will cease to exist if he just can’t see them. It hadn’t worked when Hannibal had neatly locked himself away in a box, but he doesn’t let himself think about that.

He turns his attention to the paper, which is in actuality a receipt.

A receipt for the purchase of the two bands, from yesterday. Will sees his own signature - that is, his alias’ signature, at the bottom of the receipt.

He swallows.

His earlier thought comes back to him - _some kind of celebration?_

No, no, the idea is absolutely ludicrous.

Will shoves the receipt back in his pocket and stumbles out of the bathroom, making his way downstairs. He has no idea where he’s planning to go, though a drive through the countryside and into the nearest body of water - _bad habits_ , his mind chides - is running through his head. At least, until he comes upon Hannibal in the kitchen.

He’s met with a simple nod. The glass of water next to Will’s is half empty, and a plate with a single slice of bread sits beside it. It appears Hannibal hadn’t been able to get any further than that.

“Hi,” Will croaks.

“Will,” he greets. No grandiose declarations today, it seems. “You look unwell,” Hannibal notes. Will feels not unlike a ghost, drifting between two worlds. If he thought he’d been pale before, he has no idea what he looks like right now.

“Can’t imagine why,” he says dryly. Hannibal raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment, finishing off his water. “Do you— do you remember anything?”

Hannibal sets the glass aside. “I cannot say that I remember much, but it will most likely return to me after some time.” After the painkillers have time to ease the throbbing in his head, Will translates. Hannibal meets his eyes, a faint strain of curiosity visible. “And you?”

Will licks his lips. His mouth is dry. Too dry. He thinks he might pass out again.

There’s still time to make it to the car. He should’ve grabbed the keys before engaging Hannibal.

He takes a step toward Will, now. Attuned, as always, to any sign of distress. Will automatically takes a step backward.

Hannibal tilts his head, hair falling into his eyes. “Will?”

This is ridiculous. Insane.

There has to be an explanation. Will’s just too out of sorts to come up with it himself. He thinks fleetingly of a tactical retreat once more, before deciding to face his current predicament head-on.

He digs into his pocket and unearths the box, opening it to wordlessly show the contents to Hannibal. Hannibal had taken another step forward with Will momentarily distracted, but he freezes at the sight before him. It would almost be comical, if not for the fact that Will feels close to keeling over.

“They’re—” Will’s voice dies out after the one word. Hannibal’s gaze is much too focused for someone suffering from a hangover. He feels like he’s swimming in his own head.

“What do you remember?” Hannibal asks slowly. He may as well be addressing the rings, for how determinedly he’s currently staring at them.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Will’s head is going to explode. He wants to go back and lie amongst the wreckage of the other room, close his eyes and pretend this is all some wild dream. He has the absurd thought of Jack showing up, telling Will he needs him to try to recreate what had happened from the scene before him.

“We haven’t even kissed,” Will blurts, only a little hysterically. Where those words come from, with everything else tumbling through his head, Will can’t begin to suss out.

The silence is heavy enough to ground Will. Some part of him realizes at the very first sight of the rings, his mind had gone straight to Hannibal.

There could be any number of reasons for him to have them, and yet, he knows there’s only one answer. Does he want Hannibal to confirm it, or refute it?

He pulls his hand back, closes the box carefully, and stares at it in his palm. Stares, and stares, until Hannibal finally speaks.

“I assure you, one isn’t required.” Will glances up despite himself, sees a strange mix of warmth and humor in Hannibal’s eyes. Not a single hint of the turbulent emotions swirling in Will’s head. It’s as infuriating as it is expected. “I would have said yes, regardless,” he adds.

Will’s stomach lurches. There’s no earthly way any of this is actually happening.

He’s feeling decidedly light-headed. He plops down on his behind, arms slung over his raised knees. Hannibal simply watches before joining him a minute later, with a fair amount of grace in comparison.

_I asked._ It cycles over and over in his head. Maybe he hadn’t, maybe Hannibal really had drugged him and staged the entire scene. Curious to see what conclusion Will would come to. Always, always curious.

He wants to hang onto that train of thought, but it fades away like a whisper on the wind.

“You said yes.” Will hears the words in his voice, feels the rumble of them in his throat, but it still doesn’t feel like they'd come from him.

“It would appear so,” Hannibal replies, calm as ever.

Will wouldn't have bought the rings if he hadn’t. The realization is a great deal more startling than waking up as a fugitive with no memory of what had occurred the night before.

Will stretches out his legs. The little box sits in his lap, both damning and innocent in equal measure. He considers what would happen if he were to toss it across the room, or to deposit it into the garbage. Would Hannibal move to stop him, or would he just sit idly by and watch?

“Think I can still return them?” he asks, adding the crinkled receipt to the makeshift pile. He smooths over the edges again and again. Hannibal doesn't answer.

How drunk could he have been, when he’d asked? He’d managed to make it to a jeweler, had remembered to sign the name of his alias, and made it back in one piece. Had Hannibal gone with him? Had they picked them out together? Or had Will been planning to surprise him?

Any options his mind can come up with are enough to shorten his breath.

The sound of his heartbeat thuds loudly in his ears. It has nothing to do with the hangover and everything to do with the man sitting quietly beside him. The one Will had quite possibly proposed to mere hours ago. If he hadn’t made it that far, it’s certainly hanging in the air between them now.

God, his head is spinning.

“Might be a waste to do that," he says, voice cracking. He can feel Hannibal's eyes on him, suddenly, hot like a brand. 

Will fiddles with the little piece of paper for a few more moments, before neatly tearing it into shreds.

“Will.”

Years later, and Will still doesn't know how Hannibal manages to say his name that way. Like a revelation. Will squeezes his eyes shut.

“What?”

Hannibal doesn’t offer anything else. Will can’t look at him. The small weight in his lap seems to amplify, a solid, sturdy force driving him downward.

“You’ve always got something to say, don’t you? So say something now,” Will pleads.

He doesn’t, simply places a warm hand over Will’s, thumb running over Will’s wrist once, before pulling back. A tender touch. Always, even when he’d planned to hurt him. So many times, he’d hurt him.

Will looks back to the box. He opens it, running a finger along the edge of the lid. Back, and forth. 

They’ve both hurt each other so much. Somehow, they’ve found themselves here, despite it all.

“I don’t need one, either.”

“Need what?” 

The skin Hannibal had touched still burns, just like the heat of his stare. Will closes his eyes again, focuses on breathing. What is he doing?

“No kiss required. To want to ask.” He blinks then, finds Hannibal’s assessing gaze on him just like he’d already known it would be. He holds out his hand, palm up, and waits.

“Will.” 

Salvation. Elation.

Will takes a deep breath, the force of it shifting his shoulders, his chest. 

“Hannibal.”

Moments later, he has Hannibal’s hand in his. It’s impossible to tell which one of them is shaking. Or maybe it’s not them - it’s the world around them, shaking, shifting. He thinks Hannibal would like that idea.

“After everything that’s happened between us, this shouldn’t be so scary.” Will twirls the ring between his fingers, watching the light reflect off of it.

“Are you frightened?”

Will takes a moment to think about it. It’s not fear, exactly.

“No,” he admits. “We both already know it, don’t we?” He glances up to meet Hannibal’s eyes. “There can be no one else.”

The words draw a smile that curls the corners of Hannibal’s mouth. “No one else,” he agrees. His teeth are white, sharp. Will wonders whether this is all an elaborate hallucination, but then again, he’s rather familiar with what those feel like. 

“I’d like for you to put it on me, Will.”

And so, he does. Will carefully inches the ring onto Hannibal’s finger, not quite managing to pull away afterwards. He traces the line of it with the pad of a finger, then presses down on the cool metal with his thumb.

“I thought I’d already given you everything, but I guess there was still one more thing, in the end.” Will chuckles, in disbelief and a half giddy sort of mania, and looks up again. 

Hannibal’s eyes are glistening, a complex web of emotion shining in the dark depths Will’s so familiar with. It startles him. Will mindlessly squeezes Hannibal’s hand between both of his.

Hannibal’s eyelashes flutter closed. Will wonders if he is already building a new room for this memory. Will’s almost afraid to blink, still not quite sure any of this is even real.

“May I?” Hannibal asks, eventually. The question breaks Will out of his stupor, yet he still doesn’t feel like he’s reached reality.

Will has to release him in order to hand over the other ring. Will’s ring.

He can’t stop staring at it in Hannibal’s hand. He watches his own hand drawn into Hannibal’s, and time seems to slow down.

“I would give you everything that I am, just as I would have you give me everything that you are.” 

Will can’t look away, despite the encroaching blur over his vision. He really needs to blink. Hannibal slides the ring onto his finger and lets out a soft breath once it’s in place. Will doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to breathe properly again, himself.

Hannibal meets his eyes. Will closes his own, unable to answer the silent question. Hannibal squeezes his hand, and Will squeezes back, hard.

“God,” he chokes out. When he falls forward into Hannibal’s shoulder, there’s a hand instantly at the back of his head, cradling him close. Will laughs wetly. “It’s not even real, so why does it feel like this?”

“It is real,” Hannibal murmurs. His cheek is pressed to Will’s hair, their hands still clasped together. It feels more real than his actual marriage, and through the familiar ache of that guilt, of everything he’d done wrong to Molly, there’s the solidity of Hannibal beside him. 

Three years, they’d spent apart from one another. Not entirely separate; Will doesn’t believe that such a thing is entirely possible. Memories of that time bring forth another familiar ache, a hot wave of pain and anguish. He doesn’t want to live that way again. How had either of them survived it?

“The reality that I once understood, and lived within the confines of, seems unfathomable to me now.” Hannibal has not released him. Has no cause to release him, ever again. That would have undoubtedly frightened him, once.

“Which reality was that?” Will murmurs.

“The one in which I did not know you.”

Will grips tightly at his shirt. _Before you, and after you,_ he’d said once. The bookends of his life.

“Neither of us has to confine ourselves to that reality any longer.”

Hannibal’s fingers curl into his hair. “No,” he murmurs. “You’ve made sure of that.”

“Just me?” Will asks, a note of incredulity in his voice. Of all the things for Hannibal to claim, after every careful step he’d taken so long ago, to guide Will exactly where he’d wanted him.

“It was always your choice, Will. I’d given up on believing that I had one when it came to you, long ago.”

Will closes his eyes, still hidden away in Hannibal’s embrace. Thinks of the last time they’d been together on the floor of a kitchen. It feels so far away, yet as vivid as ever. The physical agony had intertwined so succinctly with the overwhelming grief in his heart. He’d wanted to know Hannibal then, and he still wants it now. Only this time, Hannibal has forgiven him, as Will has forgiven his sins in turn.

“This is the choice we both made,” he says. A choice no one would ever understand, but the two of them.

Hannibal hasn’t let him go, but Will hasn’t released him, either.

The band around Will’s finger has warmed against his skin. As real as it feels, there’s still a chance this is all just an elaborate dream. If so, Will doesn’t mind indulging in it for a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Getting married on the kitchen floor is much nicer than being gutted, don’t you agree? I like to think that not long after this, Hannibal takes to raising Will’s hand to his mouth and kissing his ring finger. Will’s too stunned to say anything about it the first time, and remains tongue-tied every time after.
> 
> Sorry but I can't seem to write anything other than fluff, when it comes to these two. Thank you for reading this short and sweet post-s3 offering♥️!


End file.
